


Way Down

by captainleo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 06:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainleo/pseuds/captainleo
Summary: Crowley has never been good with faith, but with Aziraphale behind him maybe things will work out this time.





	1. A Gathering Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the lyrics/references used from Hadestown (and though I'm sure it's public domain, I don't own the concept of Orpheus and Eurydice either). You don't need to have any knowledge of Hadestown or Greek Mythology to understand this fic.

Sunlight streamed through the bookshop windows and Aziraphale sipped at his hot cocoa, enjoying the warmth that seeped into his fingers from the sturdy porcelain. It was mornings like these that he enjoyed most about Earth. The sun slowly wrapping everything in golden light, pouring liquid beauty over every surface. The bookshop was still and quiet. He reveled in the calmness that emanated from the floorboards. The whole apocalypse business had taken quite the toll on Crowley and himself, more than they were willing to admit out loud. He could tell from the way Crowley moved that he was relieved it was all behind them. The way his shoulders hung loosely now instead of coiled around his ears with anxiety and the way he would laze around their shared apartment, adorning the furniture with the graceful, draping postures he was so known for without the snapping, staccato rhythm of paranoia. Seeing him that way soothed Aziraphale’s nerves like a balm. For the first time in 6,000 years, he felt no nipping at his heels, no need to look over his shoulder. He felt a new kind of warmth now, something like coming in from the cold. He never realized how cold he had been before now.

He moved to peek through the closed door at the bundle snoring gently on their bed. A smile crept up on him. The whole world was in his bookshop, all under the same roof, under the set of covers on the bed.

He sighed contentedly. The sweetness of their lives felt infinite.

With a soft click, he shut the door and wandered to the backroom of the shop with his cup still in hand. He picked up the book he’d been working on and settled into the well-worn chair that had recently found a new home next to the couch Crowley had claimed. They’d been pushed close enough to allow for handholding while Aziraphale read and Crowley would watch a rerun of some old television show. A vision of honied domesticity if anyone were to catch a glimpse of them.

The old pages creaked as he lovingly turned them. Time slipped by. The cocoa in his hand had long grown cold before he reached the final words. Filled with sad satisfaction for another finished story he looked up for the first time in hours and found the gleaming sunlight was replaced by a nasty storm brewing. The clouds muddied the sky in monochrome chaos. Wind ripped through the street and Aziraphale could hear the bricks taking the battery. He furrowed his brow. The air felt heavy with electricity.

The rain came in whispering chants first, but quickly deluged into drumming. He returned his mug to the kitchen and busied himself with tidying to distract himself from the cold doubt that began trickling into his mind. _Just a storm_, he chastised, _nothing to get fussed about_. The darkness of the clouds cast shadows that elongated into monsters in his mind. His fingers began to shake as he rearranged the trinkets on the windowsill again. Nothing he was telling himself would quell the rising feeling of panic in his chest. Not even the shame of feeling childish that a mere storm could make the hairs on his neck stand on end (which they were) could talk him out of quietly but quickly mounting the stairs to the bedroom.

He hadn’t woken Crowley with his nervous banging around the kitchen, had he?

He would check.

Harmless. That’s what he told himself. Just a quick look. To make sure.

The stairs were eternal. He couldn’t remember having so many stairs before. His breaths came in short and shallow, a ragged sound. The door was an impenetrable wall. He knew he was being too worrisome. He closed his eyes and imagined opening the door to Crowley sitting up in bed with a small smile.

“Make a little more noise next time, angel,” he would quip with no malice at all. Aziraphale steadied himself and pushed the door open slowly.

As expected, a figure sat on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale’s chest constricted painfully, each muscle twisting and pulling hard on his heart.

“Hello, Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s smile grew and stretched and Aziraphale couldn’t help but think he looked like one of the monsters the storm’s shadows had made of his bookshop. His mind was buzzing as he frantically looked around. _Where is he?_

“Gabriel.” His mouth felt dry and the name landed on the floorboards with the weight of steel.

“_So_ good to see you,” Gabriel drawled.

“Where’s Crowely?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Aziraphale’s stomach lurched. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after all this time. No one had bothered them, not a word from either side. It shouldn’t be possible.

“Come on,” Gabriel commanded in a menacingly light tone. He had risen from the edge of the bed—the covers were rumpled, and the heavy blankets pooled over the side of the bed and onto the floor, Aziraphale realized with horror—and gestured wide with his hands turned up in welcome. “Step into my office.”

“This isn’t your office,” Aziraphale said numbly. He knew it wasn’t an appropriate response, but his anxiety had ripped his mind apart and crawled up into his throat.

“You’re right,” he sneered. “Does this look better?”

The safety of his bookshop melted. His sanctuary swirled into color and sound and he tried to steady himself in the cacophony. Just as he felt like the world here might make sense if he could just _focus_ for a second, everything came a blinding and slamming stop. Aziraphale blinked his eyes open cautiously—when had he closed them? —and the sterile, white familiarity of Heaven overwhelmed him.

“You’ve been disobedient.” The statement hit him with the force of a barreling train. He’d only heard rumor of the wrath of the archangels when an angel stepped out of line. For years, it was the only thing that kept Aziraphale on their path and Crowley at a friends’ armlength. His mind halted at the thought of his Crowley in the hands of the archangels. Whatever was in store for the demon was much worse than what they’d do to the him, provided they hadn’t done it already. The angel couldn’t think of a scenario where Heaven wouldn’t jump at the change to kill him after everything that had happened and that sprung tears to his eyes.

“Yes.”

“I know you’ve been away for quite a while, Aziraphale. We’ve changed how we deal with disobedience here. You’ll be our test subject, of course. An example, if you will, for anyone else who has any ideas about defying us.” A smile was seared into the words that hung like shackles around Aziraphale’s limbs. He found it had grown more difficult to move as he tried to lift his head to look at Gabriel but felt like it was tied to his chest. His knees ground heavily into the unforgiving stone floor. “Our _friends_ downstairs helped us with the idea.”

“Friends…downstairs?” Aziraphale couldn’t say much more than a word at a him; his lungs felt like they’d been cased in iron.

“Well, maybe ‘friends’ is the wrong word. But, it’s nothing like what _you_ have going on in that bookshop of yours, I assure you.”

He wanted to cry out in anger or lash at Gabriel with his bare hands but could only sigh heavily. Even his eyes wouldn’t stay open for longer than a few seconds. His mind was alight with fear for his companion. The archangels were planning something cruel; he knew. Every fiber of his celestial being railed against his corporation trying to escape.

“Michael! Just in time.”

“Aziraphale.” Michael’s harsh tone cut through him like a sword.

“We’re about to start.” Gabriel sounded like he was vibrating with the joy of the situation. Blunt heels clicked toward him. Before he could even try to flinch, he found his head being roughly pulled up to meet Michael’s cold eyes.

“Wings out.”

Aziraphale almost laughed at the demand. He couldn’t unfurl his wings in this state even if he wanted to (which he absolutely didn’t.) 

A swift kick found blindingly powerful purchase in his ribs. They cracked loudly and his vision exploded with color that swirled into darkness at the edges. His ears rang loudly, and he felt his body slump forward to rest on his knees.

“Wings. _Out_.” The command cut through his skull. To his horror, he felt his wings slowly expand to full breadth. He tried with all the power he could summon to pull them back in, but they grew tired and hung in the air like the rest of his corporation. His mind reeled trying to think of a way to stop what was happening, but before he got far, it began.

Pain enveloped him. He’d never experienced anything as terrifyingly overwhelming. Stars filled his eyes, each felt like they were tearing directly into him with the ferocity of a wild animal. Hot teeth scraped each wing from the base to the end of each feather. He could feel every atom react to the fire violently pulling away from each other. His consciousness taunted him; he could feel the pull to oblivion, strong and intoxicating, but was denied each time he began to slip. Time slowed to eternity. He knew he was screaming. He could hear the goading from the archangels. He even swore he heard Crowley call his name. The void called again, this time threateningly strong and he let himself fall into it.

The voices were somewhere far from him, but he heard Gabriel clearly.

“Nothing changes, Aziraphale. After all this time, I still don’t know why you risked everything for _them_. For _him_.”

*


	2. Doubt Comes In

Lights assaulted Aziraphale as he bobbed to the surface of awareness. He felt indescribably cold; his body was shaking and slowly the memory of what had happened came rushing back. His limbs were lighter, now, and he moved to sit up. He gasped, now fully aware of the pain still radiating across his back. The white stone around him was strewn with ash and partially burned feathers. A ragged sob escaped him as his mind filled in the gaps.

His wings were gone. Crowley was gone. He was alone and powerless again. Maybe Gabriel was right, after all.

“Aziraphale!” The angel whipped around at his name. The movement made him cry out and his vision swim, but he had to be sure.

“It’s you…” Aziraphale felt tears dig rivers down his cheeks.

“It’s me, angel.” Crowley sat not ten feet from him. His hands were bound behind a narrow alabaster column, but he leaned forward on his knees, straining to get as close to the angel as he could. As far as he could tell, Crowley looked unharmed and that flooded Aziraphale with relief.

“Crowley…” The angel crawled painfully toward the pole. Even if it killed him, Aziraphale would hold his love one last time. He snaked his arms around the demon’s shoulders and cried, unabashedly. They stayed wrapped together until Aziraphale couldn’t hold himself up anymore. “Oh angel…” Crowley flitted his eyes over the wounds that littered Aziraphale’s skin. They were deep and ugly. Blood stained almost every inch of the cream jacket he’d loved so much.

“You’re alright,” Aziraphale stated simply; as if that could explain away the crimes done against him.

“I—” Crowley’s amber eyes welled up and he quickly moved his gaze to the floor. Aziraphale’s mind began to slowly put the pieces together and his breath caught in his chest in realization.

“How long have you been here?” he breathed as if he could scare Crowley away with too harsh a tone.

“Long enough…to see you…” The voice usually filled with bravado and lilting swagger had crumbled to dust.

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale felt tired—so tired—and leaned to lay against the demon’s legs and he felt like he was being welcomed home after a long trip.

“Don’t. _They_ did this to you. How dare they call themselves _angels_. I promise, nothing will ever be allowed to happen to you again,” he hissed, curling protectively around the shaking form in his lap

“I don’t need promises, love. Hush. Just…please…”

“Of course, darling. Anything.” Crowley places a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. He was seething as the angel slipped asleep. The image of Aziraphale’s beautiful, incredible wings burning stained his mind. He couldn’t think of anything else. The smell of scorched flesh and feathers, his agonizing screams. The worst of it all was his name being shouted in desperation and pain and not being able to do anything about it. He was so close, he could catch the singed feathers and breathe the ash into his lungs, but he couldn’t reach out and stop the atrocity. Crowley’s fists clenched hard. Never again would he let something like this happen. They had gotten complacent, let their guard down. He cursed aloud and rocked the angel in his lap gently as he let tears fall down his cheeks.

Hours passed before Aziraphale stirred again. Crowley startled as he shifted, struggling to sit up. He wanted more than anything to help, but his hands were still bound behind him. The angel swayed slightly, but slowly turned to face Crowley.

“You okay?” Crowley tried to search Aziraphale’s hard-set expression, but he had his tired gaze set somewhere over his shoulder.

“He’s _fine_,” a voice spat. Crowley twisted to see Gabriel saunter up from behind them. The pristine suit and plastic smile made him want to kill the archangel with his bare hands with every tool Hell had in its arsenal. He had laid his hands on _his_ angel; that could not be excused.

Suddenly, Crowley lurched forward, his hands swinging around to catch himself. His hands were unbound and immediately he used them to grab Aziraphale closer to him. He didn’t trust Gabriel. “You’re both free to go.”

“What?” Crowley narrowed his eyes with suspicion. He stood quickly, ready for a fight if necessary.

“Let’s go.” Aziraphale used Crowley’s arm to pull himself to stand. He wanted to run as fast as they could away from Heaven and the monster in front of them, but Crowley just stared with a deep-set expression.

“You’re free to go back to your precious Earth,” Gabriel’s chipper tone sent shivers down Crowley’s back. Something didn’t seem right to him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale prompted again, tugged lightly at his arm.

“The catch?” Crowley stayed planted.

“No catch. We just needed to make sure you knew we disapproved of your past actions. I think we made ourselves clear. To both of you.”

“Let’s go home,” Aziraphale insisted. Crowley eyed Gabriel warily. As much as he wanted to use every power in him to blow Gabriel from existence, the lure of bringing Aziraphale home was too sweet to ignore. Finally, the demon turned slowly and began to take tentative steps away from Gabriel. Aziraphale stayed latched to his arm. They’d made it ten paces from the column and the ashes before the archangel called after them.

“There is _one_ condition I should mention, though.” Crowley felt his blood run cold. He knew something was wrong. It couldn’t be that easy.

“You can’t leave like that.” Gabriel gestured to them vaguely. “_You_ have to walk in front, and _you_ have to walk behind,” he said pointing to Crowley first, then Aziraphale.

“And?” Aziraphale snapped. His patience was wearing thin.

“And if your demon turns around to make sure you’re still behind him, you have to stay here with us without him. He’ll have to go back alone.”

“A trap,” Crowley growled, his grip tightening on Aziraphale’s wrist.

“No. It’s a test in faith. If you have faith in your _angel_,” the word was twisted with distain, “then this shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I trust you with every fiber of my being, Crowley.” The words were hushed, just meant for only his ears. “Take me home. _Please_.”

Crowley’s heart flopped in his chest. The sight of his angel, bloodied and barely standing, was almost too much. His mind screamed that this was a trap, that Gabriel was lying. He glared at the archangel who responded with the coldest, most malicious smile. Aziraphale squeezed his hand tightly and their eyes met. His eyes begged, pleaded and Crowley knew he was no match for that.

“This isn’t a trap?” The question was harsh, thrown with daggers.

“No, demon. It’s not. I promise,” Gabriel sneered with his molded expressions. Crowley turned and faced Aziraphale with a wild expression. His uncovered eyes burned with worry. The angel took his hands and pressed a kiss to each before meeting his eyes.

“Just through there,” he nudged his chin forward to indicate a non-descript door that appeared just to Crowley’s left. “I’ll be behind you the whole time. It’s time to go, love.”

Crowley nodded. He felt stronger with the reassurance. This was simple, just don’t turn around and they’d be free. He turned with a deep breath and opened the door. White stairs disappeared downwards, and Crowley delved before he could rethink.

The stairs continued to descend in stark blankness. His resolve was strong, and he pictured the life they had enjoyed before. Picnics and sweet evenings shared in companionable silence. Lazy mornings with tea and cocoa. Theatre and operas on the weekends; he could almost hear Aziraphale’s chuckle at his whispered jokes and it brought a small smile to the corners of his mouth. It quickly faded as he realized he felt like he’d been walking for an hour and he hadn’t heard so much as a footstep behind him. His breath quickened as he listened, but he could only hear his own footsteps mocking him. He stopped in his tracks.

_Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around._

“I’m still here, darling. Don’t worry. Keep it up, we’re almost there,” Aziraphale’s soft voice echoed around him in the stone stairwell. It was enough to fill every inch of him with sweet relief like sunlight.

“Yeah, course you are. Have a little faith angel, I’m fine,” he quipped, trying to keep the worry from his voice. It must have worked because he was met with a faint chuckle and he smiled into it before taking the next step in stride.

They continued their descent and slowly the white began to fade into pale colors swirling against the walls of the stairwell. Crowley again found himself lost in his thoughts. He thought of the archangels and their cruel nature. It surprised him that such malice didn’t earn them the boot from Heaven. How dare they destroy such beauty, such _goodness_. His hands clenched into strong fists. Gabriel’s elastic sneer replayed in his head as he turned to face Crowley as he dowsed Aziraphale’s wings in Hellfire. So at least Heaven _had_ figured out their trick.

_He belongs to us, _he had said with alarming ferocity. Crowley felt a low growl at the back of his throat. There wasn’t an inch of him that trusted that guy. Not that he went around trusting people, but something about Gabriel set off every alarm in his head. The anger and doubt slowly filled his body. Why would he do it? Why would he let them walk away? He was certain the angels were planning something terrible for him when they showed up in his bedroom. He expected holy water and more than just the emotional pain of watching the only thing in his life he loved tortured.

He gasped. _Aziraphale._ How could he be so stupid? The angel could barely walk, how was he fairing with all these stairs? In fact, he should hear labored breathing, heavy footsteps, _anything_. His feet carried him forward, but his mind screamed at him to turn and make sure Aziraphale was alright. An image of Aziraphale watching helplessly as he was left alone after collapsing somewhere along the damned stairs shook Crowley’s confidence to the ground. How could he be so selfishly indulgent in his anger and let himself lose track of what was truly important? His mind screamed conflicting things about turning around and his fear gripped his heart tightly.

A doorway came into view in front of him. His heart rocketed to his throat and his feet stumbled on the steps barely catching him. He quickened his pace; they were almost there.

_Home._

The word rang like a bell, vibrating his whole being. Crowley’s fingers trembled and he tried to shake the doubt from his thoughts. Ignore it. Keep going. His heart hammered in his corporation’s chest uncomfortably. Stop. The thrumming of his blood made him dizzy. He could do this. Don’t turn around. They were so close and Aziraphale was still there. He said it over and over to try and banish the images of Gabriel and burnt wings and lies. Lies. He shook his head.

Aziraphale was right behind him.

His found what he was searching for ever since they left Heaven’s blinding halls.

Blue eyes. Crowley looked down, the familiar wood of the bookshop underneath their feet.

Beneath his feet.

Aziraphale’s bloodstained shoes had stopped on the last white stair. Frantically, Crowley looked back up into the angle’s face. It was sad, but a smile curled at his lips in comfort.

“No,” Crowley wheezed, his voice teetering on grief’s knife edge.

“It’s okay, love. Not to worry. Alright?” Blue eyes brimmed with tears.

“No. No, no, no, no,” Crowley repeated the word like a prayer to anyone who was listening. They had been so close. He lunged forward but found himself unable to reach Aziraphale who was already fading from his view. “No! Angel!”

“I love you, Crowley.”

Crowley tried to put his fists through the barrier, but he was met with empty air. The bookshop was empty. He stumbled from the force of his swing and crashed to his knees. His chant of denial still thrummed from his lips now ragged with sobs.

He had come so close.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've toyed with the idea of adding an epilogue, but we'll see. This idea just stuck with me once it crossed my mind while listening to "Doubt Comes In" from the Hadestown soundtrack. The chapter titles are all song titles as well. Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed, I always love feedback!


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